‘We found where she was staying. She registered as Ingrid Bentham.’
‘She’s not thinking straight,’ Isaac said.
‘Not much else to tell you. We found a bag and some clothing. Apart from that, nothing.’
‘It’s probably not relevant now. She’s here in London, and not far away.’
‘What about the police at the conference centre? How did they let her get in?’ Wendy asked.
‘Good question,’ Isaac said. ‘Someone will need to do some serious explaining later, but for now we need to find this woman. If there’s no more where you are, then you and Larry had better get back to Challis Street as soon as possible.’
‘We’ll leave in five minutes.’
***
DCS Goddard phoned, as expected. ‘Sara Marshall?’
‘Her condition is stable,’ Isaac replied.
‘And Dr Lake?’
‘Shaken, but otherwise unharmed.’
‘Good. Now tell me what happened.’
‘Charlotte Hamilton attacked DI Marshall in the Ladies toilet. Gladys Lake was in one of the cubicles and protected.’
‘How did Charlotte Hamilton get in there? I thought the place was secured.’
‘I had asked the local police station to provide security.’
‘And they failed?’
‘Correct.’
‘I’ll need a full report on my desk by tomorrow morning.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’ve already had the commissioner on the phone. He wants a full internal enquiry as to how a known murderer can walk into a secured location and then attempt to kill a police officer.’
‘She wasn’t after Sara Marshall.’
‘That’s as may be, but she’s been attacked, and the commissioner intends that heads will roll; yours and mine, if he can arrange it.’
‘Understood, but our primary concern is finding Charlotte Hamilton.’
‘You’d better find her within twenty-four hours, or you’re off the case.’
‘Harsh, sir.’
‘Not harsh. It’s a directive from the commissioner. Your replacement is due in London within a day. I can’t stop this, and with a police officer almost fatally wounded, I’m not in a position to put forward a case for your retention.’
Isaac sat down on a nearby chair. He had had some tight scrapes in his career, but this was the most severe. He wasn’t usually a drinker, but if he had been at home, he would have opened the bottle of brandy that he kept for such occasions.
***
Charlotte walked and ran down Fleet Street, the former home of the major newspapers in the country. She could not think, only run, and remove herself from the area of the conference centre. As she hurtled down the street, she glanced in the occasional shop window. Without the wig, she could see Charlotte Hamilton staring back at her, not an old lady or a tarty female, but the Charlotte Hamilton that she knew, as did the police.
What a mess, she thought.
She turned right down Salisbury Court and Dorset Rise, joining Tudor Street. Once out of the immediate area, she slowed her pace to a brisk walk. Her breathing was still heavy, and she was perspiring. With no feelings of guilt about what had occurred, she found a café.
‘Cappuccino and a slice of cheesecake, please,’ she said, when asked by the waitress.
A police car drove past; it took no notice of where she was sitting close to the front window. Charlotte discounted it.
The waitress brought her the coffee and the cake. Charlotte took her time to drink and eat. She thought through what had just occurred, and what to do next. Outwardly, she resembled an average person just going about their daily business: worrying about their job, their children, how to pay next month’s mortgage.
She left the café and walked down the street, turning right on Farringdon Street. She crossed Blackfriars Bridge, keeping her head low. Where to head for was uncertain, but she knew it had to be out of London.
***
‘Your career’s finished. You know that,’ Detective Chief Superintendent Goddard said.
‘Yes, sir,’ DCI Cook said. For once, the friendly handshake with his superior and mentor was dispensed with. Isaac was standing upright in the DCS’s office; Goddard was sitting down, although he looked ready to burst.
‘I’ve had the commissioner on the phone three times today already. If Marshall had died, can you imagine the problems that would have caused?’
‘Full inquiry.’
‘And the rest. They would have my head on a plate for letting you continue with this case. All that nonsense about you being the future commissioner of the Met down the drain.’
‘I never held much store to it,’ Isaac said, which was not altogether true. He had been working his way up to the top by exceptional policing, obtaining the right qualifications, and, if needed, charming those who could help.
Richard Goddard had guided his career from the start, from when he had been a junior constable and Goddard an inspector. The previous commissioner had seen something in him, but the new commissioner did not like Isaac, any more than he liked the DCS, and Isaac was clearly Goddard’s man.
Isaac’s good relationship with the former government whip Angus McTavish would not help as he was now sitting in the House of Lords. He was unlikely to want to sully himself with a DCI whose latest case had resulted in six murders, almost a seventh.
‘You’d better sit down, Isaac,’ Goddard said. ‘Let’s see if we can salvage anything out of this sorry mess.’
‘Sara Marshall is going to be fine,’ Isaac said, attempting to alleviate the tension in Goddard’s office.
‘I know that, and from all accounts, she handled herself well. No doubt she’ll receive an award for exceptional courage, probably the Queen’s Police Medal. At least, she’ll have my recommendation and the commissioner’s, that’s if I’m still around.’
‘That bad, sir?’
‘What do you think?’ Goddard’s mood changed again. ‘You were given this case when the death count stood at four. Or was it five?’
‘Four. Graham Dyer was the first, in Holland Park.’
‘And the count now?’
‘Six.’
‘How can I defend
